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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24679801">There's a Wind-Up Man Walking Round and Round</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Return to Oz [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depressed Eliot Waugh, Depressed Quentin Coldwater, M/M, POV Quentin Coldwater, Sub Quentin Coldwater, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, just guys being dudes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:00:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24679801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot gets some news, Quentin goes on that promised Starbucks run, and then Quentin gets some news.</p><p>It turns out a lot can happen in a day on Fillory.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Return to Oz [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>There's a Wind-Up Man Walking Round and Round</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am playing a bit fast and loose with the timeline in this AU for Drama purposes. These boys are dealing with a lot of a lot.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    It is indeed sometime after noon when Eliot appears, looking like death warmed over. He can’t be hung over, he hadn’t been drunk when they’d gone to bed, he hadn’t even seemed tipsy. Just tired. </p><p> </p><p>    Now, though, he looks <em> wrecked</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    “Eliot?” Quentin sets his book aside, beckoning him over to the bench seat, where Eliot immediately curls up, putting himself even more in Quentin’s lap. “What’s up?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Fen is pregnant.” He says into Quentin’s shirt, arms winding around him. </p><p> </p><p>    “Congratulations?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m not ready for this, Q. I don’t want this.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Condolences?” Quentin offers, stroking Eliot’s hair. </p><p> </p><p>    “I can’t be a father. I don’t know how. Mine was-- mine fucked me up. He wasn’t… good, as a human being, let alone as a parent, he-- I don’t… She’s so happy about it and I can’t be excited for this, I can’t be excited about a whole-ass person whose life I am going to screw up.” He shudders and presses closer, and so Quentin just holds him, as tight as he can. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m… I’m scared.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’re not your father.”</p><p> </p><p>    “If you gave me a choice between fighting the Beast a second time-- a forty-first time-- or going back to my family’s farm, I would take my chances with the Beast, Q. I am not equipped for this.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m here, for whatever you need me for. I, um… Like, if it was me, I wouldn’t be ready, either, but I mean… I know a little bit about what a good dad is like. I can-- as a sounding board, or… I can just be there, for you. I mean, for both of you, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>    It’s an idea… he’s not exactly what he’d call ready for fatherhood, himself, but it’s an <em> idea</em>, a kid, and Eliot. Okay, in his dreams of domesticity, Eliot doesn’t have a wife, they maybe adopt or something, but he can picture it. He can picture Eliot with a baby in his arms, he can picture the softness to his smile. He would be careful to be gentle, with a child. He would be a good father, someday. Someday in the future, if it was something planned, if he had any control over it… he could be. But he doesn’t have a choice and he isn’t prepared, and it’s not fair to him.</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t want this to be my life. I just… This can’t be my life.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You are <em> not </em> your father. And you are going to be-- I mean, yeah, so this… complicates our lives--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Our lives?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well-- yeah. Our lives. I mean… I’m with you. Whatever happens. You’re my friend, El. If you’re going through some shit, I’m going through some shit with you.”</p><p> </p><p>    Eliot pulls away, catches Quentin’s hand. Where he is still wearing the ring, where he hasn’t taken off since Eliot put it there. Where he spent an embarrassing length of time lying in bed just looking at it in the dim light of the moons through his window, just feeling the weight of it on his hand, just knowing it was there because…</p><p> </p><p>    Because ‘friend’ is not the word for what the two of them are now, but neither is anything else. And the look Eliot gives him says he’s aware of that.</p><p> </p><p>    “Q…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Right here.” Quentin whispers, brushes back an errant curl and folds himself back into Eliot’s arms. </p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah.” Eliot noses at his temple. “I don’t want this, Q. I don’t get to choose anything about my life anymore. And I thought I knew what I was giving up, and I thought I could be okay with it, because it was for everyone, I thought… I thought it was for something. And instead we destroyed the Beast without the blade and now I’m going to be a father, with a pregnant wife, kind of the opposite of… you know. And I didn’t realize--- I didn’t realize I would… want anything for myself.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I know that feeling.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not wanting anything?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not being able to imagine wanting anything. I know how it feels to not even be able to imagine it. I’ve been there. And I-- You shouldn’t have been there. But hey, neither should I. Neither should anyone and it… it happens. Sorry, I was… trying to go somewhere comforting, and this is kind of the opposite of that.”</p><p> </p><p>    “No, it’s comforting. You’re comforting.” Eliot smiles wanly. “I didn’t realize I would want anything for myself. After the Beast, after what he did, after Mike, I just… wanted it over and I didn’t think I’d want… I wanted to stop feeling. I thought maybe it wouldn’t matter, I thought nothing mattered anymore, but you… looked at me like <em> I </em> mattered. You… gave me something to care about.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You do matter.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know any of this would happen.”</p><p> </p><p>    “None of us did.” Quentin shrugs. He loves this man so much, and it hurts not to say it. It hurts to love him like this, the situation they’re in… but he’d rather hurt than not know this feeling. He’d rather hurt than not see stars when Eliot smiles at him. He’d rather hurt than not feel that floaty feeling when they touch.</p><p> </p><p>    “My king.” Eliot pouts a little, strokes Quentin’s cheek and makes him feel… warm, and dizzy, and makes that ache intensify. “Where would I be without you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You would still be a king.” Quentin leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. “You would still be spectacular.”</p><p> </p><p>    “That’s nice of you to say.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I mean it, El.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t feel very spectacular today.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You want me to go on a Starbucks run? I can be in and out and only be gone for the afternoon here.”</p><p> </p><p>    Eliot nods. “Venti caramel macchiato--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Two extra pumps of vanilla. And a cake pop.” He finishes. “Daddy’s had a hard week.”</p><p> </p><p>    Eliot takes a breath, closing his eyes. “Maybe don’t call me daddy.”</p><p> </p><p>    Quentin isn’t exactly sure if Eliot means ‘because I just found out my wife is pregnant’ or if he means ‘because I want to do kinky things with you and we are not allowed to do that’-- he’s never been entirely sure about Eliot’s whole thing with referring to himself as ‘daddy’ and how much of it was, like… a genuine reflection of his kinks versus how much was just because Margo calls herself ‘mama’, was the two of them playing house with the Physical kids’ cottage, or what. </p><p> </p><p>    “Got it.” Quentin nods.</p><p> </p><p>    “Tomorrow morning, though. I mean… I’m not going to need caffeine at night, but if you headed out in the morning, you’d-- then you’d be right back. I mean within the day, it would… it would be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. I’ll be quick. Is there anything else I can get you? I mean, anything else from Earth?”</p><p> </p><p>    “My stuff? I mean, not… not <em> all </em> my stuff, but… if you could get into my room back at Brakebills, I’m happy with my wardrobe here but I do miss the comfort of my own underwear. Elasticized socks. My shower caddy. It’s not important--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Of course it’s important. I’ll go tonight. I’ll get a bunch of your stuff packed up. I’ll try and touch base with the others real quick. I’ll pick up some stuff-- like… stuff we can’t get here. Then I’ll swing by, get your coffee, and be back here by tomorrow afternoon.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’re a good friend.” Eliot says, and gives Quentin’s hand a squeeze, gives him a sad-eyed look. “I’ll… try and hold down the fort. Oh-- and… if you can, Margo has a makeup bag, it has her good brushes, her hot pink lipstick and maybe another red, her backup mascara, blush, bronzer, and her white eyeliner. You’ll know it when you see it, there’s a deer on it. She won’t complain about you taking the button if you bring back her good shit. And these little super thin almond cookies, if you’re in a grocery store and you see them.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Makeup bag with a deer on it. Super thin almond cookies. I’ll just bring back as much as I can.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Q…”</p><p> </p><p>    There’s really nothing more they can say, he doesn’t think. They keep talking themselves into corners where there’s nothing left but the way that they feel, the things that they want that they can’t have. When they rise, Eliot hugs him tight, and when he pulls away, Quentin reaches up and touches his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>    “Don’t make me do the voice again. I will remind you of just how… deeply uncool and unsexy I really am.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Either that or I’ll start having erotic dreams about E.T., who already looks like a weird penis.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m going now.” Quentin says. But he still pauses in the doorway, looks back and sees Eliot’s last little wave.</p><p> </p><p>    Margo hands over the button with her blessing, when he mentions getting some stuff from Earth, and has him write down a list of products. </p><p> </p><p>    “You guys will be all right without me until tomorrow afternoon?” He asks one last time.</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. I mean, we’ve been handling the throne room stuff--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Right, but… in case El’s not… in a great headspace to rule, you’re going to be okay if I go?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Please, it’s one day.” Margo rolls her eyes. “What’s going to go wrong? We can handle it. El can deal like a big boy, I know how to handle him. I want one of those pink drinks.”</p><p> </p><p>    “No problem.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’re an angel. A geeky, nerdy, socially awkward angel.” She pats his cheek. “See you tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>    Coming from Margo, he thinks that verges on sentimental. He takes the button and heads back to Brakebills. It’s easy enough to get his own shit sorted, he can pack light. Margo’s wards are up, but they’re weak, he has no trouble taking them down so that he can get the most important of her things gathered up for packing. Eliot’s wards have already been broken, distressingly-- when Quentin gets to his room, he finds his wardrobe has been ransacked. He grabs the last remaining tie that he spots on the floor and reminds himself he doesn’t have time to go looking for the culprit behind the break in. It’s just shirts and ties and vests that have been taken, as far as he can tell. </p><p> </p><p>    There’s a very careworn stuffed rabbit hidden under Eliot’s pillow. It used to be mostly grey with a white tummy, but time has made it more uniformly grey than it began, has faded the color of the plastic nose and left scratches on the painted eyes. Quentin stuffs it into his hoodie as he gathers Eliot’s toiletries and underthings. Which… okay, so he’s going through Eliot’s underwear now, that’s a thing that’s happening.</p><p> </p><p>    There’s… variety. More variety than Quentin had imagined, and he’s not sure what Eliot wants exactly so he shoves what he can into Eliot’s suitcase, decides on using Eliot’s luggage for the trip since he has a nice matched set and he can squeeze some groceries in after shopping, along with the rest.</p><p> </p><p>    While his clothes have been stolen, little else has been disturbed. Quentin finds a small wooden box, checks it for anything Eliot might want that he could have neglected to mention-- there’s room to pack it. Jewelry, probably not valuable, but still… his. Mostly rings, a couple other things. </p><p> </p><p>    Quentin is still wearing the ring Eliot gave him. Which… on the one hand, he doesn’t really want to take off, on the other hand, it’s going to stick out as something not a part of his usual look once he’s out in public, it’s not exactly subtle. He could slide it into the box with the others and stow it safely in his room with the rest of the luggage, under a new set of wards.</p><p> </p><p>    But he’s in another plane of existence from Eliot and he doesn’t want to take the ring off. He needs something to <em> connect </em> them. And the ring is less conspicuous than vambraces, though if he’d thought of it he could have hidden those under bulky enough long sleeves… But he didn’t think of it and now he’s here, and Eliot is waiting for him for a lot longer than he’s experiencing being away from Eliot so he shouldn’t complain, but he…</p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>    Eliot has a black leather cord, in the jewelry box, with a pendant that might have been some kind of ward or talisman once, minor charm. Or it might have simply attracted the magpie in him at one time and fallen out of favor since, given his penchant for neckties. It’s easy enough to slide the pendant off and slide the ring on, for now. When he gets back to Fillory, he can put everything right.</p><p> </p><p>    He makes sure his wards are solid before he makes a grocery run, sticks to what’s shelf stable and sorely missed, which is to say it’s pretty much junk, but it’s junk that will make them happy. That, a very tiny bottle of pink champagne, and a big bottle of pre-natal vitamins-- which he feels weird buying, but, well.</p><p> </p><p>    When he gets back with the groceries, he sees Alice. It’s more awkward than he’d imagined… he had thought it would be so good to see her again, but she’s sitting there studying, and she flashes him this smile, and everything just feels… off.</p><p> </p><p>    “Quentin! Are you back?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not really?” He shrugs. “A lot’s… going on right now, in Fillory.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. I mean, the wellspring still needs fixing, and it would be-- you know what, it would be great to have your help on that, actually. If you can-- if you’re able to take a little time. Margo and Eliot are both really busy actually ruling a country and-- and there’s just a lot going on that I can’t get into right now. You could-- you could come back with me.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Q--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Spend an afternoon in Fillory helping me try to fix the wellspring and it won’t even be like you’ve been <em> gone</em>. You’ll be right back here, you won’t even miss any classes. Depending on what day it is here.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Okay. But I can’t stay. So if you’re asking me thinking once I’m there things will be different, they’re not.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Okay. But-- I mean, are we still friends?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. Of course we are.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Then I’m asking for one afternoon, because shit’s serious and El needs me and I can’t do this by myself, and I can’t let him down right now. And I promised to bring back Starbucks. Um… first, I’m going to pack the groceries up, then I’m going to go get everyone’s drinks-- you want a coffee?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Sure, thanks.” She nods, a little distracted by something, eyes still on her work.</p><p> </p><p>    “Then I’ll meet up with you back here and we’ll go back. Is-- is Penny ever around, or… like, do you guys hang out?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Do I hang out with Penny? No. Not-- not really. I mean we see each other, I guess we talk when we do, but we don’t ‘hang out’, I don’t really hang out with anyone.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh. Okay, well-- um, next time you see him, I guess… I say hi? Maybe? I mean he hates me, but we… were on a quest together. So. Anyway, I’ll be back soon!”</p><p> </p><p>    “See you then.” She gives him a wave. He’s not sure if it’s more fond or more dismissive. He’s not sure if it matters. </p><p> </p><p>    He leaves a message on his dad’s machine while he’s packing, but he doesn’t even know what he should <em> say</em>. And then he picks up everyone’s coffee orders, and he and Alice grab the luggage and button back into Fillory, where a shaky Eliot falls into his arms the second he’s not holding a drink carrier.</p><p> </p><p>    “What’s wrong?” He asks, patting somewhat ineffectually at Eliot’s back and his hair. “Is Fen okay, it’s not the--?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Fillory… is at war.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’ve been gone for one day!”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, you can talk to Queen Margo about the specifics.” Eliot snaps, and then he’s making a dramatic exit, and the worst part is that even after a single afternoon, Quentin doesn’t feel remotely done holding him.</p><p> </p><p>    Okay, the worst part is that Fillory is at war, but after that.</p><p> </p><p>    Quentin picks up Eliot’s caramel macchiato and the bag with his cake pop and chases after him, leaving Margo and Alice to sort anything else out in the meantime. He finds him pacing the corridors, not too far off. </p><p> </p><p>    “Sorry, sorry, I’m not being very helpful right now.” </p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah, well, I kinda get it. What happened after I left?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Loria happened and then Margo happened and now we’re at war. It was fast and they were mean. And gross. But still. I just wanted to de-escalate, I don’t… I’m not… It’s just a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well. I got you that cake pop.”</p><p> </p><p>    Eliot holds out his hands, and Quentin gives over both coffee and cake pop. </p><p> </p><p>    “Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>    “What?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Nothing.” He shakes his head, but clearly it’s <em> something</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    “Did you want chocolate?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No-- no, this is perfect. I just, um… I’m stupid, I’m being-- I’m just… tired.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I could go back and get you a chocolate one--”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Don’t</em>.” Eliot’s voice comes out small. “Stay. I-- please.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Okay. I, um… I brought some junk food, we can get into it later. So… I mean, if-- if you wanted chocolate and I got you the birthday cake one-- I thought it seemed more-- Well. Anyway, I slipped something in for you, and later I’ll get it. To, um… Later, maybe-- maybe you and I can…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Just the two of us?” Eliot asks, maybe a little wary, but wary is fair. </p><p> </p><p>    “Just the two of us. Just for a little while.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Mm. Sounds promising.” </p><p> </p><p>    “As promising as-- I mean… you know. As it gets.”</p><p> </p><p>    Eliot nods, they fall in step with each other for the short walk back to the throne room. </p><p> </p><p>    “Did Alice head down to the library, or…?” Quentin asks, only for Margo to round on him with a glare there’s no misinterpreting.</p><p> </p><p>    “Alice… took the fucking <em> button</em>… and fucked<em> off</em>! She said, and I quote, ‘I didn’t sign up for this, tell Q I’m sorry’. She didn’t apologize to me, by the way. She just told me to apologize to you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Okay, well, I feel like you should apologize to me! Not for Alice, but for the part where I was gone for one day and there’s a war now? Anyway I need to… I’ll make sure you get your stuff, but I don’t want to unpack here, I’m…” Quentin takes a deep breath. “I’m taking this stuff to my room and I’m going to sort everyone’s shit out in a literal sense but I need you to sort shit out in a geopolitical sense, because I am dealing with way too much shit. Like, actual shit, god shit.”</p><p> </p><p>    He takes the luggage and his own coffee and leaves. He can guess Margo wants him to apologize for bringing Alice back only for her to fuck off and strand them, but he can’t juggle feeling things about everything going on. Losing the button is bad, losing the button is a big deal, and he hopes Alice will return it when she’s calmed down and someone can drop her back on Earth, but he can’t be upset about her leaving, because Fillory is at war and he’s at his limit.</p><p> </p><p>    He’s face-down on his bed next to an open suitcase when Eliot slips in. Without looking up, he knows it’s Eliot-- when he’d put up his wards, he’d left the door open to Eliot alone. Even if he hadn’t, maybe he would. Maybe he would. He feels the bed dip. </p><p> </p><p>    “My lucky banana briefs.” Eliot reaches over him, snags what Quentin presumes is the underwear in question from the suitcase. “Did you pack any of the sexy ones?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No.” He groans, listens to Eliot’s disappointed click of the tongue. </p><p> </p><p>    “Did you pac-- oh. Where did you find this?”</p><p> </p><p>    Quentin lifts his head to see Eliot holding his stuffed rabbit, fingers gently trailing over its matted fur.</p><p> </p><p>    “He was under your pillow.”</p><p> </p><p>    “What were you doing looking under my pillows?” Eliot smiles. </p><p> </p><p>    “Nothing. Oh-- um, I took a necklace out of that jewelry box, do you need it back?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You took a necklace?”</p><p> </p><p>    Quentin rolls over onto his side, pulling it out from under his shirt. “Just the cord part, so I could… you know. Be a little discreet with this.”</p><p> </p><p>    The look Eliot gives him is almost too much to take. </p><p> </p><p>    “Keep it. At least… until you find a chain you like better. So you can keep it on you… discreetly.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Don’t mention it.” He tucks the rabbit under his chin. “Thank you for my surprise.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh-- no, I got you--” Quentin rummages around without looking until he comes up with the pink champagne, pushing himself up on one elbow to do so.. “Ta-da! It’s a little single-serving, but, uh…”</p><p> </p><p>    “But you’ll split it with me anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t have glasses.” He says, but Eliot just rolls his eyes and opens the champagne, taking a swig and then passing it over. “Or, okay, or this works.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You know just how to cheer me up.” Eliot drapes an arm across Quentin’s hip, leans against him warm and just heavy enough. </p><p> </p><p>    “Well… I thought you deserved it, and that was before I knew-- all of this. So… to you.” Quentin raises the bottle. “I told you once that you were going to be a great king, and I think you’re going to be a great dad. I know it’s not what you would have chosen. I know it’s not going to be easy. I know this isn’t how you wanted it. But you are so different from your father, Eliot. You are gentle, and you are caring, and… I believe in you. And I’ll help you. And I bought vitamins for Fen, for the, you know, for the baby. Just… I thought, you know. As long as this is happening.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Q…” He swallows, averts his eyes a moment. When Quentin passes him the champagne he takes another drink. “Thank you. I don’t really know how to deal with… any of this.”</p><p> </p><p>    Lying in another man’s bed sharing a bottle of pink champagne and touching a lot and telling said to keep more jewelry is probably low on the list of ways expectant fathers should handle dealing with their wives’ pregnancies, but Quentin’s not about to say so. </p><p> </p><p>    “We’ll deal.” He says instead. “So… what’s the bunny’s name?”</p><p> </p><p>    Eliot shakes his head. “That is very intimate information.”</p><p> </p><p>    “He and I traveled a long way together.” Quentin shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>    “Not as long as he and I did. We left Indiana. We went over the rainbow.” Eliot’s smile is soft and faraway, as he toys with the stuffed bunny and they pass the champagne back and forth to its last dregs. “Thumper.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Does Margo know she has a sidekick?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Of course she does. Margo knows everything. But you and Margo are the only people who do.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Your secret’s safe with me.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Guard him for me?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You don’t want to sleep with him?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Very much… but, I am sharing a bed with my pregnant wife. Who does not know these parts of me. So.” He tucks Thumper down against Quentin’s pillow. “Keep him safe.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You can come visit him, if you want. Any time.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Tempting.” He sets the empty bottle aside and settles down, loops his arm around Quentin’s waist and closes his eyes. The stuffed rabbit obscures Quentin’s view of Eliot’s face, situated between them as it is. </p><p> </p><p>    It doesn’t change the fact that they’re lying in bed together.</p>
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